The gleaming spud shone in the hot summer heat as we walked up to it.

Marge excitedly ran inside as I lugged our suitcase up the spindly steps into the central room. I hadn’t been as excited as her to be spending our 1 year anniversary in a glorified french fry, but ever since Marge had seen the massive vegetable in a television commercial, she’d been talking about it nonstop.

The month before, I’d grown tired of her trying to convince me that we should book it for a week for our anniversary. I’d put my foot down and told her that we would not be spending such an extraordinary amount of money for so little.

Yet here we were, already sitting inside. Apart from being in the middle of nowhere around 25 miles from any known civilization, it was still really cozy. A beautiful fireplace dotted with cushy couches were littered across the main room. Above it hung a beautifully crafted antler chandelier, dotted with thick candle wax and lights gleaming out of it.

The bedroom was off to the side, with a massive window with thick curtains that showed a beautiful view of the vast landscape outside. The bed was absolutely huge, almost filling the entire room, with a bathroom in a separate room off to the side.

Marge hopped into the bed with a sly smile and I thought to myself that maybe this wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

We didn’t hear anything unusual the first night, other than a strange rustling outside and a flavorful smell of baked potatoes. I thought it was an odd choice for an air freshener, but I guess the owners of the AirBnb really wanted to take in the whole potato schtick.

On the second day, we went out to our car to discover that the battery had died. We called the maintenance company, who told us that due to how far off the grid we were, it would take the company a few days to get someone out here.

Whatever, it’s not like we had been trying to do too much anyways. We’d also brought plenty of food and entertainment, so we made ourselves comfortable in the potato.

On the second night, we heard more rustling outside. The smell of the potatoes returned again. Marge had fallen asleep in the bed, and as I was closing the curtains and preparing to sleep myself, I noticed a strange shape outside our bedroom window. It was too dark to see exactly what it was, but it looked like a person. I grabbed a flashlight and shone it through the window, seeing nothing at all. I chalked it all off to me being exhausted, and went to sleep.

On the third day was when things started to get confusing. I woke up to an extreme heat in the potato. It felt like I was being boiled alive. I ran outside to see the fireplace roaring. I quickly turned it off, before looking around and noticing that Marge wasn’t there.

I assumed that she’d gone for a walk, and started preparing breakfast for us. Three hours later without any sign of her and I’d started to panic. There was no sign of her, no sign of a struggle or anything. Everything had been left exactly where it had been when we went to sleep. There were no new footsteps or anything outside. I tried calling the police and got no responses from them either.

As the day drew to a close with no sign of her, I ran outside of the potato and started wandering around the vast fields around us. It was too flat, so there was no way that Marge could’ve gotten lost. But I nonetheless started calling her name as I ran around.

Too loud.

As the sun finally set I looked back towards the potato and noticed a face staring back at me through the massive bedroom window. It was Marge.

Relief coarse through me, and I ran back to the potato.

As I moved closer to the spud I noticed how white her face was. Her devilish smile.

How her eyes seemed almost black.

I stopped running closer and stared at Marge.

Through the window, she just stared at me, the same inhuman smile on her face. After a few moments, the curtains were yanked shut.

I ran inside, and looked around the dark potato. There was no one there. All that was left was the strong smell of baked potatoes.

I didn’t want to look up. But I could feel its presence. I heard the gentle sway of the antler chandelier.

I ran inside the bedroom, and slammed the door shut as a loud laugh rang through the potato.

I heard the thing calling my name over and over.

I barred the door and stood trembling.

It started smashing against the door, still yelling my name in the same voice. It was so human. So familiar to Marge. Yet there was something else in it that made me shiver.

All the while the smell of baked potatoes started to get stronger. The room began to boil again. After a few moments of hearing my name, the door starting to splinter, and the growing heat starting to become unbearably hot, I began to laugh.

I collapsed on the floor, still manically laughing as my blood began to boil and the potato started to cook, ready to be devoured in a glorious meal by the creature who we’d served a full buffet to.